I Veryanwë
by Nightshade Scribe
Summary: As the title says to those Quenya speakers among us , Fëanor's wedding.


**Long, long ago, I asked another author if I could use the wedding vows in her story for one of mine, and received gracious consent. My story has changed much, and the vows are now my own, but I still urge you to read Blodeuedd's **_**Fire.**_** It's amazing. Oh, and **_**osanwë **_**is Elvish telepathy.**

* * *

I am not afraid, I tell myself as I pace. I am not, truly, I am not. I am _not_ afraid. It's nothing but my wedding, after all.

I twist the silver betrothal ring around my finger. An hour at most until it will be replaced by a gold wedding band. I have worn this ring for a year; the next I will wear...forever.

Though the weather is mild, my room feels stifling, especially in this robe. It is heavy—dark red velvet and brocade, so richly embroidered as to be almost stiff, with tiny gems arranged in an intricate mosaic around the collar and cuffs. Yet I could never entertain the notion of wearing something else—even had this robe not been given to me by my father, and even had there not been a note written by my mother tucked into one sleeve, I would have known at a glance who had made it. Though I by now have it memorized, I take my mother's note from my desk and read it again:

_My dearest Fëanáro-_

_As you have received this robe, I assume the day of your wedding draws near. I have no doubt that your bride is a fine woman, and I wish you much happiness together. My only regret is that I will not be present in body. I promise you, though, that not even death could keep me from my son's wedding feast. My spirit will be with you. _

_You are lying beside me as I write this. Perhaps you will later doubt my love for you; wonder why I left you so early. I swear I do not want to—these days with you have been the happiest of my life, and to leave you and your father will pain me greatly. Yet I simply cannot stay on in this world; I have tried for seasons, but it is too much. _

_I have no more and too much to say. All love, _

_Amil_

I trace the columns of Sarati characters. One hardly sees them anymore, my own Tengwar having become the common mode of writing. Yet now I think I will always hold some affection for this alphabet—this is as close as I have ever come to hearing my mother speak to me.

Yesterday I managed to escape the last-minute chaos and slip out to Lórien, as I often do when things are overwhelming. Sometimes I speak to my mother; sometimes I simply sit. Yesterday was one of the former. I sat by her body and held her hand as I spoke of my wedding, of the love I feel for Nerdanel, of my simultaneous excitement and apprehension and of how much I miss her, though few my memories of my mother be. "I trust that you will be there, as you wrote, but I want to be sure—I want to feel your presence."

There was no answer, of course—there never is—but I always feel that she is listening to me, and I have no reason to believe that she is not. Indeed, sometimes I have expressed a desire or a problem, and soon after the desire would be granted or the problem solved. I believe that she speaks for me to the Valar, and perhaps even to Ilúvatar. It was soon after a visit to Lórien that I finally summoned up the courage to ask Nerdanel to be my wife.

Perhaps my mother is with me now.

"Amil?" Immediately I feel foolish, especially when the only one who knocks on my door is my father. "Come in."

He enters, and his eyebrows fly up—do I look as anxious as I feel? "By the Valar, Fëanáro, are you sure you want to go through with this?"

"I am fine," I say, willing myself to be such. "Fine."

It looks like he doubts that, but he lets it pass. "Well, if you truly are ready, then come out and meet your bride. We do need both of you for the ceremony."

I follow him from my room, to a chamber just off the garden where the feast and ceremony will be held. Indis and her children are here, and Mahtan and Raina. And Nerdanel, of course. She is facing away from me, speaking to her mother, but turns when she hears me come in.

"Fëanáro," she says.

"Nerdanel. I hardly recognize you." It's true—I have never seen her in such elegant clothes, nor so made up and ornamented. I would not have expected it to, but it suits her. Standing next to her, I catch a scent like flowers.

"It was the work of many hours, love. I got very little sleep."

Outside, I can hear music. "You look beautiful."

"As do you." She holds her sleeve against mine. "They are alike enough, I think." I had shown Nerdanel my robe soon after my father gave it to me, and she had decided that she wanted her dress to match. She has done well, the simplicity of her gown—other than beading on the bodice and minimal embroidery around the square collar— balancing the heavy ornamentation that my robe displays.

"Fëanáro, something for you," Raina says, handing me a small box. Yes, of course. The customary gift from the parents to their child's future spouse. I spent days making the necklace that my father will give Nerdanel. I see that I have been given a necklace as well; the pendant is the many-pointed star that I have already begun to use as a personal device, wrought in gold with a ruby inset. I recognize Mahtan's style in the piece, and the jewel as one that I myself once cut. I smile at Raina. "Thank you very much." When I put the necklace on, the stone matches my robe almost perfectly; Nerdanel must have told her father which one to choose.

My father then gives Nerdanel her gift, and I smile at her delight when she sees it. After much deliberation, I have selected the large diamond she had admired a year ago as we awaited our parents' decision on our marriage. I have used gold for the setting, shaping it into leaves that cradle the lily-shaped jewel on its fine chain.

_I still find you far more adamant than the stone, though_, I tell her through osanwë, and she grins back at me as she grasps the double meaning.

"Fëanáro. Nerdanel." Our parents are hurrying us along again. "People are waiting."

"Come on," Nerdanel whispers to me, looking just as nervous.

My father nods to one of the servants standing nearby, who pulls open the door. More light streams into the room, glinting off the jewels in Nerdanel's hair, and momentarily blinding me. I take a deep breath and Nerdanel's hand, and step outside.

Already present are kin and close friends from both sides, and I even recognize several of the Valar. Beyond, at other tables, are more people than I can count. They all rise when the families come out, and do not sit again until we are all seated. There are two seats at the middle of the high table, for Nerdanel and me; the ones on either side of us are for our parents (true and nominal), and so on. The guests wait to eat as well, not touching anything until my father has been served.

The food—and there is a great deal of it—looks and smells delicious, but I cannot bring myself to sample anything more than a sip of water. I see that Nerdanel's plate is empty as well. "Why can they not have the ceremony after the feast?" I murmur. "Then perhaps I would be able to eat."

She takes my hand under the table. "Much is not as we would wish."

"Is that why I see you have no food on your plate? You are letting this fine feast pass you by so you can think?"

"I am letting it pass me by because if I took a bite I think it would immediately come back up."

In truth, we would have little time to eat even if we had appetites, for we are constantly being approached by guests bearing gifts and congratulations. In no time at all it seems that people are laying down their forks, and that Nerdanel and I find ourselves being led around to the front of the dais.

Raina and my father join Nerdanel's and my hands. I notice that her nails, which I have known to be always cracked and full of dust and clay, are smooth and even, lacquered with something pearly.

_Amil_, I suddenly remember as the musicians cease playing. She had promised to be here.

My father is used to speaking before large crowds, and his voice is loud and strong as he pronounces the words. "Manwë Súlimo, who Sees, observe now this ceremony and see fit to bless my son and his wife, that his marriage be one of joy and of love, from now until the End of Days."

"Varda—" Raina's voice comes out a rasp; she clears her throat and begins again. "Varda Elentári, who Hears, hearken now to these words and see fit to bless my daughter and her husband, that their marriage be one of joy and of love, from now until the End of Days."

Then, in unison: "Eru Ilúvatar, who Knows, recognize now the marriage of our children, and see fit to bless this union. May You look fairly upon the bride and upon the groom, and may You grant unto them, and unto the children they will bring forth, only happiness and peace for the rest of their days."

They release our hands, leaving us free to pull off our betrothal rings and hand them back to each other. The gold rings are handed to us, and we place them on each others' fingers. We hold hands for a moment more, and Nerdanel grins at me. I smile back, and then we turn to head back to our seats. But we find our path blocked, by, of anyone, Manwë and Varda.

"After naming us as witnesses, are you so surprised that we would truly come to give you our blessing?" I have heard Manwë's voice before, but never from so close, and I have never seen how the stars flash in Varda's eyes.

"No," I finally manage to say. I feel Nerdanel's hand gripping mine tightly.

Then the Valar bless us. Whatever benedictions they give are wordless, but I feel a sudden surge of power from the large, warm hand atop my head. The ceremony had been more than simply recitation, but this is unquestionably _real, _and when Nerdanel and I straighten up, the connection between us feels even stronger_._

We bow and thank the Valar, and then the music begins to play again, and all the awkwardness and nerves that have defined the day so far vanish. We are not yet fully married, of course, but the worst of the whole affair is over. I smile at Nerdanel, and we step down from the dais to join the others.

* * *

The festivities continue for hours, music and dancing and poetry. Every time Nerdanel and I have a free moment, we are greeted by another well-wisher. At one point we are able to steal around to one of the tables and take a few bites of food, but a few bites are all we manage before we are dragged back to the dancing. In truth I have little objection to this; after days of wanting it all to be done with, suddenly I wish that it could go on forever. But little lasts, of course, and gradually people approach us to say a final farewell. Instruments are being returned to their cases, tables are being cleared, and from afar I see more servants readying the carriage that Nerdanel and I will leave in.

When the last of the guests have finally left, Laurelin has long ago faded, and few birds can be heard singing. Ingalaurë has fallen asleep in his mother's arms. Indis looks down at him and tells her children, "It has gotten quite late, too late. If there are any goodbyes to say, say them now and then off to bed."

My half-siblings and I look at each other questioningly. There is little to say, as we both know: All of them have tried to befriend me before realizing that it was pointless; they had felt hurt, but I felt little remorse. It is not that I hate them; I simply want little to do with them. Yet—much as I regret it, we are kin, and we both recognize that Indis has put us in an awkward position. This seems to bind us, and Findis nods at me, a hint of a smile on her face. Her siblings follow suit; Lalwen waves to me and I wave back.

_So you need not be total enemies._ Nerdanel, in my head.

_We never were_

"Fëanáro?" Indis again. "I doubt that you will miss me greatly, but your absence will be felt."

I favor her with the same smile I gave her children, and she returns it before vanishing into the house.

_Have I softened your feelings toward them?_

_No._

I have wondered sometimes if I am being unfair; Indis has always been good to me, never trying to take the place of a mother. But then I would see one of her children, or even think of the concept of _mother_, and reconciliation would again be defeated by resentment. Perhaps things will change now that we are far apart; I do not know.

My father, though wisely passing no judgment on this little exchange, cannot hide his approval, and despite the reason, it pleases me. An easy child I was never, but not for lack of love. Until Nerdanel, there was nobody I cared for more; actually, considering the vast difference between the love of a husband for his wife and that of a son for his father, it may be equal.

And as much as I look forward to my new life, there is certainly no one I will miss more.

I release Nerdanel's hand and walk over to him. "Atarinya." How do I express what I am feeling? "I—I will miss you."

"As will I you," he says quietly. "Ah, Fëanáro!" He embraces me tightly. Normally I am reserved in public, but it is mostly family here anyway, so I hug him back. He holds me for a long time, then pulls back and kisses my forehead and says, "I love you, my son. Now farewell, and leave while I can still retain my composure."

I smile, though I have to force it somewhat. "Farewell, then, Atar."

Not far away, Nerdanel and her parents are exchanging last words as well, Raina not even bothering to try not to cry. Finally she lets her daughter go, and says something through her tears that makes them all smile. Mahtan shakes his head and says some reply, then finally lets Nerdanel come to me.

Together we leave the garden, going back through the palace to where our carriage is waiting, just inside the gate. We climb into the driver's seat (even had we wanted to sit inside and have somebody else drive, there are so many boxes crammed in that it would be impossible to sit), and I take up the reins. I cluck to the horses, and they begin to trot.

The streets are deserted at this hour, and the only sound is that of hooves against marble-paved streets. Once a bird chirps, from far away, and several people look out their windows as we pass, but nothing else. Some type of awkwardness has arisen between Nerdanel and me, and neither of us can say anything until we reach our house.

No betrothal is free of arguments, but one of the things that both Nerdanel and I had agreed on was that we wanted a large house (for many children, she had said; for space to work, I had said), far from the crowded, noisy center of Tirion. We had designed our home together, but there was no hope of it being completed before our wedding. My father offered that we could stay in the palace, but we had declined. So we have taken this house in the meantime—it is small and inconvenient, but it is enough; it will serve for what we were told would be a year at most.

Nerdanel steps forward to help as I begin to unhitch the horses, but I shake my head. "You start carrying all these gifts inside," I tell her. "Put them on the table; I will help as soon as I finish with the horses. Trust that there will be enough left for me."

Indeed there are; besides for those who had stayed through the ceremony, many others had come for a short time, sometimes simply to wish us well. But nearly all had brought presents, and it takes Nerdanel and I several minutes to finish emptying the carriage. We have also been given the leftover food (and several bottles of very good wine), which in itself necessitates two trips to and from the kitchen. Finally the last box is brought inside, and I lock the door and sit beside Nerdanel on the couch.

"Do you know you have petals in your hair?" As if the feast had not already been taking place in a garden, every table and fixture had been so heavily adorned with flowers that, by the end, the ground had been covered with fallen petals and leaves.

She brushes at the top of her head, and the petals flutter to the floor. "So I do." She looks at the gifts on the table. "Should we open all of these now?"

There are enough to stagger the mind. "I would wait on the gifts. Tomorrow, perhaps. Or maybe we should just leave them until the new house is finished; we have very little room here."

"Yes, but if we know what is in them we might be able to get rid of a great deal, or to at least package it more efficiently. And you must e curious; it is not in your nature to let things sit." Suddenly she laughs. "Do you remember when we came across that odd cave, and you insisted on going inside—"

I smile at the memory. "And we found a nest of bats, and you _did_ scream when they began to fly at us."

"No, I yelled that we should run." Any of that awkwardness is dissolved as we proceed through this old disagreement once again, often laughing too hard to speak.

"In any case," I say when I have caught my breath, "they are wedding presents, and we still—"

"Yes. Come."

It is nearly a race to the bedroom. There is some more laughing as Nerdanel realizes that she cannot take off her gown by herself, but together we manage it, in between kisses and some unintelligible whispers and then, finally, we are wed.

* * *

When I open my eyes, golden light is pouring through the curtains and my wife is lying close to me, still fast asleep. Nerdanel has never been one to rise early, although I can see that we both have slept quite late. This is not surprising, as we spent much of last night awake. Mostly we spoke—marriage has removed a barrier of some kind, and I realized that even after our years of friendship, there was yet a great deal we did not know about each other. Likely there is still much left to learn.

I consider getting out of bed, but decide against it. I do not want to wake Nerdanel, and I myself am still tired, though not to the point of going back to sleep. I look around the room, which is already in disarray. There are the boxes in the corner, holding most of our possessions. There is Nerdanel's gown, slung over the back of a chair—by the time it was off we were both too impatient to hang it up. I stroke her hair idly, and perhaps the touch is what wakes her. She stirs in my arms, groaning something, and looks up at me sleepily through her hair.

"Fëanáro. Early."

"Midday."

She raises herself on one elbow to look at the window. "How?"

"We fell asleep very late, if that works as an answer. Yet we slept just as late. Do get out of bed; there is much to do."

"What right have you to give me orders?" she grumbles, but she pushes the covers away.

We both dress in the first clothes we can find—even our clothes are still in boxes and garment bags—and breakfast on the food from the wedding feast. The rest of the day is spent putting our house into order: unpacking the boxes that seemed to hold more than we had ever thought we owned; opening presents (some are useful; more are useless) and figuring out what to do with them; making lists of all the things we still need. We argue, but in good humor, simply enjoying the feeling of being husband and wife.

Though nobody said it to my face, I know that many doubted my readiness to be wed, and I admit that I sometimes felt the same way. Yet I am sure now that marrying Nerdanel was the best decision I have ever made. It is wonderful; it is exciting; it is…right.

_-finis-_


End file.
